


John vs. John

by rhymeswithorangejuice



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cats, Cute Ending, M/M, Relationship(s), Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-30
Updated: 2017-07-30
Packaged: 2018-12-08 23:32:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11656968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhymeswithorangejuice/pseuds/rhymeswithorangejuice
Summary: When Sherlock accidentally adopts five cats and names them John, Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, Molly, and Andersen, John becomes jealous of Kitten John.





	John vs. John

When John walked into 221b, he heard something odd; it sounded like cats, but he dismissed the thought. “Sherlock?” he called, putting his coat on the coat rack and walking forward into the sitting room. Sherlock was sitting next to a large cardboard box, looking a little distressed. “John,” he said, pulling his hand out of the box.

“Sherlock...,” said John hesitantly.

“I, er, may have, er, accidentally adopted five cats,” Sherlock explained, shifting a small kitten from his lap.

“What?” exclaimed John, shaking his head as if denying the statement. “Keep up, John, five cats,” said Sherlock, standing up and brushing off his hands. “You know that woman who came a few days ago, with the case about the murder of her old uncle?”

“Yes, but what does that have to do with--”

“Don’t interrupt. When I told her that he had not been murdered-”

“He wasn’t?”

“Obviously. When I told her that he had not been murdered, but in fact had taken one too many sleeping pills, she was so relieved she gave me her five kittens,”

“You’re telling me that you accepted five pets from a client when you can barely take care of yourself!” John cried.

Shaking his head, John looked down at the kitten rubbing against his leg. John lifted it up, looking into its blue eyes. Heaving a sigh, John looked to Sherlock. “Fine, but you’re in charge of them unless you’re actively on a case.”

“Someone’s about to knock on the door with one,” Sherlock said, looking towards the door expectantly.

John glanced at the wide open door. “Sherlock, no one’s there.”

Sherlock glared at the door, and to John’s amazement, there was a knock at the door not even five seconds later.

When John saw who was at the door, he had to laugh.

“Thanks,” he told the man at the door, handing him cash.

He turned to Sherlock, who was looking at him.

“It was only the delivery man, Sherlock. Speaking of which, are there any dishes that aren’t a bio-hazard?”

“Mrs. Hudson washed them, they’re in the cabinet,” he said, petting the smallest kitten, a little orange tabby.

John grinned, already planning what to give Mrs. Hudson as a thank you; he was sick of using paper plates and plastic cups. “I’m hungry, John,” muttered Sherlock.

John ignored that as he was already dividing the food onto the plates. “Did you give them names yet?” he asked. “John, Andersen, Greg, Mrs. Hudson and Molly,” said Sherlock, putting down the tiny orange cat.

“Which one’s John?” the human John asked, hoping it wasn’t the one he thought. Sherlock just continued petting the kitten in his lap, glancing up at John. John groaned. Of course the runt would be him. Just when he thought Sherlock was finished teasing John about his height (they had been chasing a criminal when they had to jump a fence; Sherlock got over with ease but had to come back to help John over).

Sherlock stood up, scooping up the cat and putting him on the carpet. The cat scampered away onto John’s spot on the couch, curled up and started to purr. John handed Sherlock his plate, and they both walked to the couch.

John looked at the cat in his spot, who was so cute any attempts to move it would be a crime.

Balancing his plate on one hand, John snatched the kitten and sat before placing it down between the two men. For a while, the two ate in silence, enjoying the other’s company. John saw the box containing the kittens tilt over, spilling the creatures everywhere.

John sighed, placing his plate on the back of the couch, and reached down to grab a small grey British Shorthair. “Which one is this?” he asked. “Lestrade.” John glanced over at Sherlock, who was holding two calicos. They placed the cats next to Kitten John

“Sherlock, did you buy any cat food?” Sherlock didn’t respond.

John sighed, of course Sherlock didn’t think of getting animals food.

A week later

Sherlock was lying on the couch, with small John, as they had come to call the kitten John, curled up on his chest. The detective was in his mind palace, absentmindedly petting the cat. He was thinking over the ‘Adventure of Beryl Coronet’ when he heard the door closing.

“I’m back; you better not have blown anything up,” called John, who looked exhausted. The doctor plopped into his chair, glancing over at Sherlock; it was rather adorable.

Sherlock looked down at the John on his chest. While the kitten was nice and warm, he’d rather be curled around the one in the chair. The one that was browsing on his laptop, the one that was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. The army man, the doctor. One of the most tolerable humans he had ever known.

Sherlock humphed; it wasn’t fair. Since when had John invaded his mind? He was supposed to be focusing on the case, not on John’s biceps. John’s shoulders. John, john, john John.... Focus, Sherlock, he thought, closing his eyes. Good God, he needed a cup of tea. He got up, knocking the kitten off his chest and striding towards the kitchen. He put the kettle on to boil, sitting down on one of the kitchen chairs and putting his head in his hands. He tried to to focus on the details of the case, but John kept popping into his mind.

“Stop it, John,” he said into his hands, causing John to look up. “What?” he said, looking exasperated at the detective. “Er, I wasn’t talking to you, Kitten John was asking for food” Big John looked over at Small John, asleep on the couch. He smiled to himself “Want a cup?” John nodded. Sherlock got John’s favorite mug from the cabinet and poured the water. No sugar. He carried it to John, who smiled up at Sherlock as he took it. Sherlock couldn't contain his own grin.

John’s smile. John’s shoulders. John John John John John John John.

“Sherlock, shouldn’t you be giving kitten John some food, that’s why you got up after all, right?” The voice broke through Sherlock’s inner rant, causing him to really look at his flatmate.

The doctor was awkwardly turned around in his chair, looking to Sherlock and then back to the kitten, who had migrated off of the couch. John was running his hands through his hair, and he was looking at kitten John far more than usual (John usually avoided his namesake). You could even say he was glaring at the small kitten, who was now rolling around on top of one of Sherlock’s shoes. Suddenly Sherlock’s brain tied the threads together.

“You’re jealous.”

John started, his hands accidentally tugging on his hair roughly, causing him to wince.

“What are you talking about?” he asked, avoiding Sherlock’s eyes.

“You are avoiding my sight, as you usually do when you’re lying. When I told you that you were jealous, you were startled enough to accidentally hurt yourself,” Sherlock told his blogger.

Placing food into each of the kitten’s bowls, he rushed over to John, gathering the shorter man into a hug.

John exclaimed, “Who would I be jealous of, Sherlock?” he wormed his way out of the hug and chair to confront the taller man; his face was bright red.

“You were glaring at a kitten, John. Considering your love of animals combined with that fact I was paying attention to John, the most logical reason is that you’re jealous of John.”

John’s blush intensified, he began to stutter as Sherlock leaned closer. “John vs. John. How delightful.”

Sherlock quickly closed the gap between the two, leaning down to kiss the smaller man, wrapping his arms around him.

John squeaked and went stiff before relaxing into the unexpected kiss. Sherlock broke it first, grinning maniacally. And Mycroft said I don’t have any experence. “I thought you didn’t date,” John whispered. “You’re my exception.”

“Oh,” John said, glancing down at the kitten threading its way through their legs. It was the calico, Mrs. Hudson.

Sherlock guffawed, resting his forehead on John’s. John had a soft smile on his face and was curling his fingers around Sherlock’s arm. “I can’t believe this is happening.” said John, looking down at their feet. “I mean, I could barely believe you liked me as a friend.”

Sherlock tilted John’s head back up, kissing the doctor once again.

“And to think you were jealous of a feline.” John collapsed giggling.

That was when a knock came; “Sherlock dear, are you there? Greg is here with a case for you.” They jumped away from each other, John looking at the floor and Sherlock turning towards the picture covered wall as if he was scrutinizing the pictures. “Who’s Greg?” mouthed Sherlock to John. John shook his head. “Mrs Hudson!” exclaimed John rushing to open the door. In the process he tripped over one of the cats, who was lying in a sunbeam. He fell flat on his face but jumped back up, opening the door to see Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade. “Are you alright, dear? You look sort of... rumpled,” John cursed in his head. “I’m quite all right, Mrs. Hudson. Greg.” he stiffly gestured to the living room, where Sherlock was now sitting in his chair, with his hands shaped like a steeple. “Ah, Lestrade,”

“Greg,” said Lestrade. “What?” Greg sighed, close to giving up. “We have a case for you down at The Yard,” Sherlock was distracted. “What is it, Lestrade. I’m a busy man. As you know, I’m still working on Alexander Holder’s case,”

“I know, but this is worse.” Sherlock’s eyes flitted to John, who was boiling another kettleful of water. He let out a little breath and turned his eyes back to Lestrade, who looked exasperated. “Do explain it to me. John’s making tea,” John’s eyes fixed on Sherlock, and a smile lit up his face. Mrs. Hudson’s eyes switched from Sherlock to John and back again, and let out a gasp herself. “You--!” she exclaimed, and strode over to John. “Hush, Mrs. Hudson,” he said, not wanting Lestrade to know. “You kissed!” she whispered to him just as the kettle began to whistle. “Oh!” she looked so happy. Lestrade continued explaining the case. “There was a murder down at that new construction sight downtown. At least, we think it’s a murder. The young man appears to be shot in two places by two different guns. One gunshot on the left side, one on the right. He’s one of the workers on the building. One of his colleagues said that he decided to stay late to clean up.” Lestrade leaned forward towards Sherlock. “Which he had done almost every night that week. He had no ID, no cell phone. And no fingerprints.”  
“What?” now Sherlock was interested. “No fingerprints?”

“They appear to have been sanded off,” Sherlock sat back in his chair, exhaling as the cogs turned in his head. “The young man also had disappeared for several days the week before. The same man who told us that he had stayed late told us,”

“Drugs,” said Sherlock.

“What?” asked Lestrade.

“Did he have any on him?”

“Not that we know of,” said Lestrade.

“Take me,” said Sherlock, standing up and swinging on his coat. They strode out the door, almost in unison. “Oh John, you kissed!” exclaimed the landlady.

“Yes, Mrs. Hudson,” John sighed, pouring a cup of tea for her. “Cream and sugar?”

“Yes please, dear. I never thought it would happen! I just thought there would be so much tension up here forever and ever and ever. So much tension I could feel it from my flat. You know,” she lowered her voice, “the sexual kind of tension,” John rolled her eyes. Kitten John rubbed up against her legs. “Who’s this little dear?”

“That’s Kitten John,” replied John, sipping his tea.

“Is it?” giggled Mrs. Hudson. “If I remember correctly, this little one is Sherlock’s favorite. And he always has him lying on top of him,” she smirked. John blushed at the innuendo. “Mrs. Hudson!” he cried. She just gave him a devious smirk.

“Did something happen to John?” Lestrade asked Sherlock. “He looked nervous.”


End file.
